The Aftermath
by Crimson Release
Summary: Rufus ShinRa's expresses his feelings after condeming the people above and below Sector 7 to an unjust fate.


**Fianl Fantasy: The Aftermath**

_Crimson Release_

**__**

**_Rufus ShinRa's POV followign the destruction of Sector 7_**

Though my back is turned, and my eyes are tightly shut, I can see the careless salute Reno offers after telling me that everything- discluding a few bumps- went according to plan. I can hear the solemn expression in his voice and taste the bitterness in his tone as he goes over his report.  
  
Leaning forward, my forehead presses against the full length windows that surround the pent-house office and open my eyes, which are reflected off it's glossy surface as I gaze at Midgar; my city. The forlorn call of sirens are heard in the distance as the rescue units and fire control rush towards the billowing clouds of smoke, dust and ash that hangs over the gaping hole that used to be an unimportant residential zone that hung over the Sector 7 slums. Somehow the coolness of the glass against my fevered skin calms me and I turn to face Fletcher with an expression of arrogant indifference. Whether or not he sees through my uncaring façade, he makes no effort to hide his dislike of my presence or the feel of my hand in his. Mako sparks with disdain in his eyes as he slowly pumps my arm up and down, and I know he resents the soft feel of my un-worked flesh against his own calloused and invisibly blood stained palm.  
  
"And the Ancient?"  
  
"Already contained and sedated in the laboratory, Sir."  
  
"Very well." I say, unable to hide the weariness from my voice as I release his hand and fall heavily into the unoccupied high-backed swivel chair that makes up my new station behind my father's desk.  
  
"Are you alright, Sir?" Reno asks, warily uncaring as he shifts his weight to one leg and slips his hands into the pockets of his untidy uniform slacks.  
  
_'Sure,'_ I think bitterly _'my father's funeral is to be held tomorrow morning. It's safe to expect a most unpleasant visit from AVALANCHE before 10'oclock, and I'm seen as a cruel and heartless bastard for going along with my father's plans of collapsing the plate over Sector 7 by the whole damn company- excluding both Heidegger and Scarlet, who have been showing increased interest in getting in to my expensive, newly presidential, designer pants.'_  
"Fine, Reno."  
  
"Would you like to hear the expected death rate sir?"  
  
_'Hell no!'_

"Let's hear it."  
  
"Above the plate were approximately thirteen thousand registered citizens over the age of eighteen- voting age and all. Children were not taken into account during the last census. Survivors so far are two hundred, thirty seven; most, if not all, in critical condition."  
  
"And below the plate?"  
  
"Below the plate, sixteen thousand even. No survivors. Total annihilation."  
  
_'Jesus...'_

"Very well."  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
"And Reno?"  
  
"Sir?"  
  
I shake my head and lean back in my chair, that creaks _'Like the support must have.'_ I tell myself morbidly. "...Nothing. You and the others may take the night off, after increasing the guard by a single man per station."  
  
"Yes sir. Thank you Sir." Reno drawled, snapped his heels together, saluted languidly, turned and left my new office.  
  
I sigh and glance at my father's corpse, which lies still, slumped over his paper work 'That I completed for him.' And narrow my eyes at the sudden flavor of bile that has risen in my throat. Rising from my chair, which seems non-existent compared to the 'throne' my father is still sitting in, forced downwards by the ominous hilt of a masamune, before returning to the windows.  
  
My father had died a just death, and I half appreciated the effort Sephiroth had gone to express his revenge with a vengeance, as well as my own for the loss of my poor mother. But it also highlighted my father's selfish streak; for after his persecution, and the perverse feeling of justice I felt when I looked at the knarled break in his flesh ended, I feel the dead weight of his legacy. Dying when he did dropped a ton of responsibility on my shoulders, and a thousand crosses to bare. He left me alone to pick up the pieces of his destructive life.  
  
For now, it was I who is tainted by the unseen blood of the innocent.  
  
Folding my hands behind my back, I raise my gaze to the twilight stained horizon and beseech the stars for an impossible solace.


End file.
